


this mess was yours (now your mess is mine)

by kindahannah



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Lydia-centric, Minor Character Death, Multi, Slow Burn, like before it starts someone is dead just warning you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4323144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindahannah/pseuds/kindahannah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But remembering the day that her mother died?  That wasn’t as high up on her list of things she liked to remember.  And, as it seemed, it also wasn’t the kind of memory that could ever be erased from where it was burned into her mind."</p><p>A canon divergence AU that begins with an altered ending to Dreamcatchers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this mess was yours (now your mess is mine)

**Author's Note:**

> hello, everyone. it's been quite a while since i've written anything at all, especially something teen wolf related, so bear with me if it starts off a little rusty. 
> 
> i just have a few quick notes before we can get this show on the road.
> 
> 1\. i'm a die hard stydia shipper, i have been since the beginning. however, i do not hate malia because she gets in the way of that ship. i hate malia as a character, i feel she has a poorly written and executed character arc and bad plot lines. if the writers were better and actually put effort into shaping malia as a cool character, they could, however, i just don't like her. but please don't tell me i have internalized misogyny with malia. i just genuinely do not like her, that's all.
> 
> 2\. there may be some inaccuracies or plot mistakes regarding past seasons. i'm going to try and stick with the plot line as much as i possibly can, just because i've already said it's a canon divergence au, but it's been a long time since i've actually watched the show, so i can't make any promises.
> 
> 3\. for anyone who is unclear, a canon divergence au means that, basically, this is set in a universe that only differs from the original universe a little bit. in this case, i've changed the ending of season 5, episode 3, and i'm going from there. everything in the past is exactly the same, but the future is going to be different. 
> 
> 4\. tags, warnings, relationships, characters, etc. will probably be changing and updating as i continue to write, because they are pretty vague and empty right now. however, i'm not sure yet where this story and these characters are going to take me, so it'll be a journey for all of us. that being said, i will try my hardest to mention triggering content and subjects in the notes so that it won't have any negative impact and consequences. for this chapter, the only thing i think is triggering is the mention of death that keeps coming up, and there are also passing mentions of blood and violence, but nothing is graphic. otherwise, i'd say this is a pretty safe chapter. if you do find anything triggering, let me know in the comments and i'll add it up here.
> 
> 5\. the title for this story comes from the song mess is mine by vance joy, which is absolutely incredible and i listened to a million times while writing this chapter.
> 
> okay, that's all i got for now! i hope you enjoy my little story, and if you have any comments, questions or suggestions for me, leave them in a comment and i'd be happy to answer!

**i.**

Lydia had a gift. She had many gifts, most people would say, but her memory was something she’d always considered high up on her list of redeeming qualities. She remembered almost everything she’d ever seen or heard with clarity, a distinct sort of clarity that, recently, she often found herself wishing didn’t exist. 

She loved to remember some things, like days she spent out in the yard of her uncle’s country house, running through the grass with bare feet, sun shining on her strawberry blonde curls, not a care in the world outside of right then and there. She loved to remember the summer afternoons her family spent at her grandmother’s house on the lake, the rush of taking off on the wooden dock and the initial burst of cold when her body hit the lake, and especially the feeling of being weightless when her head reemerged from the water.

But remembering the day that her mother died? That wasn’t as high up on her list of things she liked to remember. And, as it seemed, it also wasn’t the kind of memory that could ever be erased from where it was burned into her mind.

It was like a haunting tidal wave that came over her when she least expected it to. It was the way her bones ached every time she walked into her house or past her mom’s old office. It was the way her blood turned to ice with every mention of her mother’s death. It was the nausea that churned in her stomach every time she even so much as looked in a mirror and was met with the same hazel eyes she shared with her mom. 

It was everywhere, and always-- this grief and emptiness that was too big to ever be able to describe with words. 

And most of the time, Lydia felt entirely alone. It was mostly her own fault, to be fair. Ever since that night, she’d been distancing herself from everyone. She couldn’t bear to see Kira’s sad puppy dog face looking at her, couldn’t stomach the reassuring words that Scott kept trying to feed her. She couldn’t deal with Liam’s trying too hard to comfort her like everyone else, she couldn’t look at Malia-- couldn’t see the pair of eyes that watched her mom being killed. And she especially couldn’t face Stiles.

They’d all respected it, or at least, they tried to. She still got lasagnas and pasta dishes-- and really just too much food to eat herself-- from each family, and amongst the mass assortment of flowers that were filling up her house, were arrangements from each one of them, somewhere. They’d all tried to get close to her at the memorial-- actually, they didn’t leave her side, even though she didn’t make eye contact with any of them, not even once.

Even in the weeks following the service, the couple weeks she was out of school and that her dad had managed to get off work, the weeks where she didn’t leave her bedroom once, and was barely able to stomach tea and crackers, they waited. Most of them. 

Stiles was the exception to that. Granted, there wasn’t really anything about Stiles that was an embodiment of patience to begin with, everyone knew it was worse when it came to Lydia. ( _“You’re my best friend, Lydia.” He’d told her in one of the many voicemails he’d let her during those few weeks, the voicemails that came every day-- sometimes more than once a day-- and that she’d listen to when the nightmares shook her awake at the earliest hours of the morning. “You’ve been my best friend since we were eight years old. Even though that was one sided, but still. Don’t shut me out.”_ )

That point was really only proven further when Lydia’s dad eventually had to return to work, which only meant one thing for Lydia. She had to leave Beacon Hills. Her destination was her grandmother’s house, a few hours away. There wasn’t much else of a choice, not in her eyes. Her dad’s job always had him moving around, and the last thing she wanted right now was a loss of the last of whatever stability she had left. 

So, naturally, Stiles (being Stiles) would have _none_ of Lydia leaving. He’d taken it upon himself, actually, to do hours and hours of phone calls and persuading and building arguments with color coded powerpoints and corresponding flow charts that mapped out exactly why it would be much healthier for Lydia to stay right there, in Beacon Hills. 

It worked miraculously well, really.

Since Lydia’s dad was first in line to have custody of her, and was the sole decision maker in her name, it was really just a matter of convincing him that letting her move in with the Stilinski's was the best plan. And, really, he wasn’t ever the most present or caring father, so it barely took any convincing in the long run. 

The bigger surprise came when Sheriff Stilinski was close to beating Stiles out on how much he wanted to have Lydia there. 

It was no surprise that he cared for her immensely, the same way he cared for all of Pack McCall, but it was both overwhelming and comforting to Lydia how much he really pushed to have her stay. He’d spent the whole week before she moved in helping Stiles get the guest bedroom cleaned up and redecorated to seem less like a spare room and more like Lydia’s room. Stiles, to his credit, was incredible at picking out decorations that were different enough from her old room to keep from bringing back flashbacks of her mom constantly, but still things that he thought she would like. Sheriff made quite a few contributions himself, though he’d been very taken aback when he showed Lydia to her new room for the first time, and the initial reaction she had was to burst into tears, but was assured to know that they were (partly) good tears.

The entire group had been there to help her move the rest of the stuff she brought over, mostly clothes and all her old papers and books, as well as pictures and other mementos and trinkets. There really wasn’t very much, and it hadn’t taken very long at all, and they were all gracious enough to fulfill her request of having some time alone. 

**ii. ******  


It doesn't take long for Stiles to make his way back-- He’d given her a little over an hour before he was knocking on her door, a mug in each hand and a sheepish smile on his face when she let him in.

“You don’t have to let me stay, you can just take the tea and kick me out, if you want. I just-- I figured that maybe you didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want the whole group in here, you know?”

He wasn’t far off, was the thing. She didn’t want everyone crowding in her new room, and she didn’t want the awkward and tense silence, she didn’t want the elephant in the corner of the room, and she didn’t want the looks of pity being exchanged above her head, like she didn’t know they were coming. But she didn’t want just anyone’s company, she wanted Stiles’, in particular. 

“Is this lemon?” Lydia asked softly-- because she wasn’t actually the best at starting conversations, or small talk-- sniffing at the cup she’d taken from Stiles’ hands, as she moved to sit on one edge of the bed. 

Stiles gave a little nod, shifting his weight, as if he felt awkward answering the question. “It’s, uh. It’s lemon balm. I know you liked tea but we only had some green tea and then English Breakfast, so the other day I went and picked up a few new ones. This one is for, uh. It’s for anxiety and stress, and stuff. Calming.”

Lydia took a sip of it, eyes closing for a moment, before she opened them again and looked up at the boy. “You can sit down, Stiles.”

“Right.” He nodded, voice a little mumble, as moved towards the bed and sitting slowly. Lydia wasn’t used to seeing Stiles do anything but stumble into things head first, and the way he tentatively followed the slow dip of the bed was almost unnerving. But he was still Stiles, and he still hated the tension and the silence as much as she did, and so it didn’t take him very long to speak up again. “Want to watch a movie, or something?”

She nodded, and she wasn’t sure if she looked as grateful as she felt, but she also didn’t care. She reached over to the her side table, picking up the remote and handing it to Stiles, who turned the TV on and went straight to Netflix. He didn’t even browse through the choices, just immediately went to the search box. “Have you seen that Frida Khalo movie yet? The one you were talking about a few weeks ago?”

She shook her head, a bit surprised that he’d even remembered, as it had just been something she mentioned in passing over lunch one day when the group was still talking about getting together for a movie night. Kira was the only person who really appeared to express any sort of interest in her suggestion, but apparently she wasn’t the only person listening. “No, but. You don’t have to put it on if--”

“She looks like a cool lady. I wouldn’t mind learning about her.” Stiles assured her quickly, cutting off her little ramble and turning on the movie before she could argue anything else, further. 

She loved the film as much as she thought, and, much to her surprise, so did Stiles. He was just as invested as her, actually paying attention, unlike how he normally watched movies-- only half listening, and asking questions whenever he missed something important. 

He didn’t say anything right away after the film ended, but after taking a few minutes to gather his thoughts, he was quick to turn and start a conversation with her about it. That was one of her favorite things about Stiles, he was one of the few people in her life who she could actually sit down and have an intellectual conversation with. Granted, the opportunities to do that were few and far between, but she appreciated them all.

“It’s crazy that she stood for so many great things, and then the media and popular culture managed to demean her just down to a few things.” Stiles mused, laying back on the bed and looking up. “Like, when you think about her now, you think about the unibrow and then her injury and her promiscuity. Because today, all people really make a big deal of are sex and violence. She’s probably rolling over in her grave every time some big brand prints her face on a t-shirt.”

Lydia sighed, setting her empty mug aside and mimicking his position, though she laid in the opposite direction, and folded her hand over her stomach. “She was incredible. Her views were incredible, what she stood for was incredible, all of it. Like, it’s cool that she’s finally gaining respect and recognition again, but I hate that all her political views, and her criticism of gender roles and knowing the fluidity of sexuality-- all of that just gets erased.”

“She kind of reminds me of you.” Stiles replied after a moment, gaze still focused on the ceiling. “You both have all these intelligent and really world changing, life altering things to say, you just need people to listen.”

Lydia raised her eyebrow at that. “You think I could change the world?”

“I know you could change the world.” He replied, voice so sure and unwavering that it left her without anything to say back. She didn’t really have to. The silence that then followed wasn’t stiff, or tense. It was comfortable, heavy with thought and lemon balm tea, and it calmed her instead of putting her on edge. 

“It’s late.” Lydia finally spoke up, some time later. She wasn’t actually sure what time it was, she just knew that it wasn’t early. 

“Almost midnight.” Stiles replied, giving it a few more minutes before slowly pushing himself to a seated position, glancing at Lydia, who was still laying on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“As alright as I can be, I think.” She murmured, giving an almost smile as she sits herself up as well. “You can go to bed.”

“I’m right next door if you need anything, okay? Like another blanket, some water, can’t sleep… Anything.” He promised, standing slowly and giving her a look to make sure she knew that he was serious, before he leaned down and hugged her. “I love you, Lyds. Sleep well.”

And he didn’t mean it the way that she wanted him to, but it was enough. She told herself it was enough. It had to be.

**iii.**

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing she knew, she was back in that same place. 

She thought it was the basement of the police station, that was the only place that made sense. It looked like the basement of the police station, to the most of her knowledge, but it felt wrong, it felt like somewhere else. She couldn’t explain it. 

She knew she was dreaming, she knew exactly what was coming next. She glanced down at her side, and when she was met with the wound soaking blood through her pink sweater, the wound that was completely painless in the dream. 

She knew what was coming, but she couldn’t control what she was doing. She knew that when she moved further into the basement, towards one of the doors, that she was going to speak up soon. Sure enough, she heard herself before she could register anything. “Mom?” She called out, voice cracking, like it always did. “Mom, where are you?”

 _She knew it was coming._ She knew that she was going to hear it before she did. The wail, pained and brutal and agonizing, and entirely her own. The wail that was reserved just for when someone was about to die.

And then, like always, there was another scream. It sounded like her own being echoed back to her, but she’d already had this dream enough to know it wasn’t her this time. It was her mom. It chilled her to the core, and her body began to run, but the basement only seemed to stretch as the scream kept going, circling around her so she never knew which direction it was coming from. It didn’t matter anyways, because as far as she ran, she was only getting farther from any door.

But then something different happened. She heard her name amidst the chaos and the noise, and she stopped running. The voice was far away, and sounded familiar, but she didn’t know who it was.

She didn’t have much time before she woke up with a gasp, eyes flying open to a light room, coming into focus on Stiles sitting on the edge of her bed, his hand on her arm. 

“Lydia. _Lydia,_ listen, you’re okay. It was a dream.”

She opened her mouth to try and speak, but all that came out was a shaky whimper that had Stiles pulling her into his chest, cradling her in his arms like she was a little kid who fell and scraped their knee up on the sidewalk.

They sat there for a while, Stiles occasionally wiping off her cheeks when they got too covered in the tears she didn’t know that she was shedding, but mostly just smoothing back her hair, not saying anything at all, and just waiting until her gasping breaths and shaking had subsided, for the most part.

“I can stay here for the rest of the night, if you want.” He whispered, as if he was afraid to be too loud, not pulling away from the hold she had on him at all. 

“It-- It usually only-- The nightmare-- Only once a night.” She tried to get out, and Stiles sighed, like he wasn’t totally believing her. “If-- If it happens again I’ll-- I’ll come to you.”

That seemed to win him over, at least a little bit, because he was kissing the top of her head after a few minutes and standing up slowly. “Promise me?”

“I promise.”

**iv.**

It took her some time to fall back into any sort of sleep, and the lights stayed on the entire time, and there were quite a few false alarms where she could feel herself losing consciousness, and then startling herself back awake, but eventually she was consumed by a dreamless darkness. It used to be unsettling to her when she woke up and realized that she hadn’t had any dreams, but now it was a relief. 

It was much later in the morning by the time she finally woke up from the prolonged period of being in the dark-- much later than she’d been sleeping any other day, lately. It was nice. 

However, she definitely hadn’t been expecting to go downstairs and see Stiles in the kitchen-- especially given that it was Tuesday, and it was almost nine in the morning, which meant that Stiles should probably be at school. And yet, there he was, still in his pajamas, with the powdered pancake mix on one of his cheeks, a spatula in his hand, and a plate full of deformed pancakes beside the stove. 

“I made breakfast.” He announced, a smile on his face that let her know that he was actually _proud_ of the pancakes he made. “Well. Kind of. It tastes like breakfast. The appearance is questionable.”

“What are you still doing here?” Was her reply. Which, okay. Maybe it wasn’t the best response, but she realized that much a little too late.

“Well. Uh.” Stiles’ eyebrows wrinkled together a little bit, and he looked sort of stumped as to how he should go about answering the question. “Well, you know. I talked to my dad this morning when he left for work and we came to a mutual decision that maybe I should stay home with you. You know, since it’s your first day in the house and, like, we didn’t want you to be alone.”

“So, how confident are you that these actually taste like real pancakes?” Lydia asked after an awkward couple beats of silence, not really knowing how to respond to him besides starting a new conversation, eyebrow lifting in a challenging way as she took a seat on his counter.

Stiles thought about that for a moment, head tipped a little to the side. “Well. I think, on a scale of one to ten, I’ll give myself a solid eight. Because, you know, I’m confident, but not cocky. I leave room for fault and error, since I am a mere mortal.”

“Give me one of those ugly pancakes, Stilinski, and I’ll see if you’re right.”

“The pancakes say that they don’t want to be eaten by someone so rude and insulting, who judges them purely based on physical appearance.” Stiles taunted, putting a few of the pancakes on the plate, but not handing it over to her. “Don’t you remember first grade, Lydia? Don’t judge a book by it’s cover? _Hmm_?”

And for the first time in a while, Lydia _laughed_. And, really, she wasn’t sure why, because it wasn’t actually that funny, but she did. And if her reward was the smile that lit up Stiles’ entire face, then she’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, shut up.” She shook her head, a little smile still on her face as the plate was finally set in her hands.

She made a big show of cutting off a piece and taking a bite, drawing it out as long as she possibly could, as if she was frightened of eating it. Which, well, she was a little bit, but. He didn’t have to know that.

“Well? What do you think?” Stiles asked after a few moments, wide eyes, looking a little like an excited puppy.

“They’re quite dense, not as fluffy as I’d prefer, but the chocolate chips were a pleasant surprise.” She replied, putting on her best British accent in a weak attempt to impersonate Gordon Ramsay. Stiles appeared to understand the reference, because he smiled in the way that the corners of his eyes started to crinkle up, but then she was distracted by the sight of smoke coming from the stove. “And I think that you might be burning some right now.”

Stiles swore out loud and did a little jump before grabbing his spatula and hurrying to get the pan off of the stove, setting it in the sink quickly. The whole room smelled awful, which he probably already knew, considering he was quick to open the window above the sink. “That never happened, okay?” He looked back at Lydia, who was already nodding and getting off the counters to open the rest of the windows in the kitchen.

“But I say we seize the opportunity of not being able to eat in the kitchen by… Eating on the couch and watching a movie?” Stiles proposed getting a plate of pancakes for himself. 

“Sounds perfect.”

She knew that it was a pity day when she saw what Stiles chose to put on. Well, she really knew it was a pity day from the very start, but the fact was only reaffirmed when Stiles skipped right over The Avengers and put on Legally Blonde. Right behind the Star Wars movies on his list of favorites, came the entire genre of superhero movies-- and Lydia knew this. Yeah, she loved chick flicks, but not as much as Stiles loved superheroes. 

But she didn’t say anything. Not then, not yet.

The first time Stiles spoke after he put the movie on wasn’t until a little bit later, after they’d both finished breakfast, when he turned to Lydia and off-handedly said, “You remind me of Elle. But smarter.” 

“Elle is smart, Stiles. That’s the whole point of the movie, that she’s smart.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled out the throw pillow that was behind his back, reaching over and hitting Lydia in the side with it. “I _know_ that. But you’re smarter than her. For a while you pretended like you weren’t, but I knew you were.”

“Are you just going to compare me to every female protagonist from every movie we watch?” Lydia asked, holding the pillow he hit her with against her chest as she looked over at him, trying to ignore the way she felt herself smile, unwillingly. 

“Maybe some male protagonists, too, but only the good ones. Some movies have shitty protagonists.”

“Yeah, you better not compare me to a shitty protagonist.” She threatened, pulling the away from her chest and throwing it into his gut. 

This time Stiles was the one who laughed, leaning against the back of the couch, arm tucked behind his head. “You know, I’ve missed hanging out with you, Lyds. Thanks for moving into my house.” And, really, it was such a weird thing to thank her for, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Thanks for letting me.” She replied, voice a little softer than what she would have liked, but oh well. “And for welcoming me in so easily, and not making me move in with my grandma, or my dad.”

Stiles turned to face her directly, somehow managing to look serious with a smile still on his face. “Wherever I am, you’re always welcome. Don’t forget that.”

And she wouldn’t. Not ever.


End file.
